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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492643">So, How About This Weather?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01'>danceswithhamsters01</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reddit Prompts [96]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Magic, One Shot, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Tutoring, Tweaking the Knight-Commander's nose, Weather</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.</p>
<p>Prompt 6; spilled sugar, frosted windows, the end of summer</p>
<p>Sevarra Amell the apprentice has a new instructor. They go to the top of the Circle's tower for a lesson in storm magic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reddit Prompts [96]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1153856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So, How About This Weather?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the end of summer, the late afternoon breeze having the slightest hint of a bite to it the closer it got to sunset. He paused for a moment to admire the view from their perch. Below – far, far below – the nearby village appeared to be a colorful grouping of blobs on the shore. The waters of Lake Calenhad greedily lapped at the edges of the land that surrounded its vastness, as if looking for the slightest excuse to flow over its banks and devour the unsuspecting earth. On a good day, weather and light provided, he could squint as he peered northwards and almost see the Waking Sea.</p>
<p>The light tap-tap-tapping sound, a slow walking rhythm of a staff accompanying the whisper of slippers on the stone of the massive ivory tower’s roof brought First Enchanter Irving back to the moment. Ah, yes. The reason for the excursion. She wordlessly drew near before stopping to do a slow spin as she turned to get a view of their surroundings, her eyes wide with plainly worn awe. The sun hit her dark braid just so, making him think for a short moment that it was deep blue rather than black. After she had enough time to let the awe fade, she dared to speak.</p>
<p>“There… there’s no templars up here with us?”</p>
<p>“Correct,” he replied. “We will not require their assistance nor their oversight this afternoon. In fact, they would only prove to be a liability if we had any here with us for this lesson.” His mustache did much to hide the little smirk his lips adopted. Greagoir had not liked the idea one iota. Fortunately, it wasn’t his call to make.</p>
<p>“Not that I am complaining Fir-- Master, but why are we outside? Why are we on the roof?” Sevarra’s dainty hands were white-knuckled as she held the oak-bodied staff tightly in her grasp. The polished chalcedony orb that sat atop the staff caught the sunlight, glittering much like melting icicles during an early spring afternoon.</p>
<p>He closed the distance between them and lightly tapped the top of the staff. “Tell me, do you recall your earlier lessons with staves? What kinds of magic does this particular type of stone enhance, hm?”</p>
<p>He wore a smile to fight back the twinge of sadness. Alara, an enchanter who had devoted herself to non-violence, had insisted that he teach her student about the weapons. ‘She needs to know how to defend herself,’ the woman had written emphatically. At the time, the frightened girl had taken to the subject with gusto and eagerness. But that’d been… before. Alara was gone now, and now the girl was his apprentice. Irving knew himself to be no healer, but many other forms of magic could be learned and mastered. Why not begin with that which came most easily to him?</p>
<p>“Primal magics. Storm-based ones in general, cold-based ones in particular,” the girl answered after the briefest of pauses to think. She’d been allowed to observe – from a safe distance, of course – several of the Tranquil as they crafted weapons a handful of months ago, staves destined to accompany war-mages and enchanters to their postings to serve lords throughout the kingdom. She had not wasted the opportunity and asked the ever-patient craftsmen what they were doing and why with each step.</p>
<p>His smile softened as it shifted from a mask to something genuine. The staff she held was the one she told him had “sang” in her mind all those months ago during the initial target practice lessons. Almost every mage had an affinity, a branch of magic that came nearly as easily as drawing breath. That “singing” chalcedony meant one thing: there was a force of nature slumbering in the student before him waiting to be awakened and mastered.</p>
<p>“Correct again,” he said. “As for why we are out here? Up here? It is time for you to practice.”</p>
<p>He smirked as he saw her bright eyes scan the roof in vain for straw-filled targets only to return to him with a puzzled expression. “Oh, not target practice, young lady. I daresay you’re already quite good at that, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>She squinted, one eye nearly closing before she raised her brows. “You mean to use the staff as a focus rather than a weapon?”</p>
<p>“Me? Oh no, no. You will.”</p>
<p>“Wh… what am I going to be doing that I’d require a focusing tool?” she asked.</p>
<p>Rather than use words, he murmured a spell that summoned a brief flurry of snow into his hand for several heartbeats before the winds carried it away and snuffed it out. He reached his hand out for the staff. After she surrendered it, he repeated the spell. Instead of a tiny flurry, a wind funnel of snowflakes nearly as tall as the girl swirled into life and sped away from her, dissipating once over the lake’s waters. Her eyes were wide with wonder once his attention returned to the apprentice.</p>
<p>“Now you try,” he said.</p>
<p>She went still as a statue, panic written in her eyes.</p>
<p>“There’s no one up here to be harmed. Try.”</p>
<p>She tilted her head and looked at him pointedly as if to say <em>Care to rethink that idea? </em></p>
<p>After a wordless standoff with her refusing to so much as wiggle a finger, he sighed. “You underestimate me, young lady. I, however, shall humor you.” A few swift gestures and a harshly uttered spell brought a transparent glowing blue shell into being around his form. “Proceed.”</p>
<p>He had to prevent himself from doing more than arching a brow when she wordlessly summoned a small palmful of snow that glittered like spilled sugar in her hand. Most spells required words or gestures. “You can do better than that. Again.”</p>
<p>After biting her lip in hesitation, she gave in and a brief flurry flew past her, dusting the stone at her feet with flakes of snow that rapidly began to melt once it passed.</p>
<p>He squinted his eyes, mouth in a flat line. “Why are you not reciting the words?”</p>
<p>She pulled her arms tightly around herself and cast her gaze downward to her slippered feet. “I don’t need to. It just… comes to me when I ask it. It always has.”</p>
<p>Debating the wisdom of his next action, he held the staff out toward her, offering it. “Try that again. Try to make it impressive this time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Knight-Commander Greagoir sat and stared out the window of his office. Windows within arm’s reach were a luxury seldom afforded to mages, save for the First Enchanter. He sipped his drink, made cold by magically summoned ice, which helped to combat the afternoon’s heat. He seldom allowed himself time to simply do nothing but stare out at the lake or the sky and let his mind wander. It was a small thing that distracted him from his cloud-gazing, one particularly fluffy cloud had brought to mind the shape of a bunny.</p>
<p>There was frost. There was frost on his window. There was frost on his window in August, a month known more for heat than chill.</p>
<p>He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes before looking out the window again. Gone were the summertime fluffy clouds and sunshine. What little he could see was cold, grey, and angry. Snow pelted against the glass before sliding down to fall upon the island’s neglected grounds several stories below.</p>
<p>A blizzard. There was a blizzard raging in the middle of sodding August!</p>
<p>Leather and plate-clad hands balled into fists. “Dammit, Irving!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook snow out of his silvery beard and mane and cackled. “Well done! Well done, indeed!”</p>
<p>The blizzard faded away as quickly as it had come into being. Sevarra looked at him questioningly, flakes of snow still clinging to her lashes and dark-as-ink hair. “R-really?”</p>
<p>He nodded, wearing a grin so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Indeed. Tell me, child, what do you know of other storm magics?”</p>
<p>“Things like bolts of lightning? Not that much,” she replied.</p>
<p>“Observe carefully,” he said with a hint of pride coloring his voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carefully nursing a mug of tea to chase away the chill, the Knight-Commander resumed his paperwork. Guard rotations here, apprentice notes there, reports of suspicious activity on another page, and so on. Soon enough, the mug was drained and his bones felt warm again. Grabbing the last page in his “to do” basket sitting on his desk, he heard something.</p>
<p>A deep rolling, rumbling sound.</p>
<p>Scowling, he spun to look out his window. The sky was dark, filled with angry clouds blocking out the sun. And then he saw it. The briefest flash of pink. A bolt of lightning.</p>
<p>He sighed and covered his face with glove-clad hands. He knew of only one person who could make them that color.</p>
<p>“Funny, Irving. Very funny,” he grumbled to himself.</p>
<p>Several heartbeats later, another flash followed the first. It’d been white instead of his long-time colleague’s signature bit of color.</p>
<p><em>The weather should not be regarded as a plaything, </em>he thought with a glare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>A productive afternoon, </em>he thought to himself with a grin as they wound their way down the many, many flights of stairs. Their destination was the kitchen and they were on a quest for tea and warm scones to chase away the chill that had settled into their bones while working with a magically created blizzard and then a thunderstorm.</p>
<p>“We won’t get in trouble for that? For making the weather do things out of season?” she asked, staff still clutched in her left hand.</p>
<p>He chuckled. “Not at all, child. The lake is regarded as a strange place for a very good reason. The nearby village is used to such things. We did no harm.”</p>
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